Eleven is a hard year.
One time, MyFriendJen told me that the hardest years are 11 and 16 (she has an older daughter for reference). And I was like, “11? Really?”
Gal Smiley is poised to turn 11 in a couple of months. Here’s what 11 means:
- No one ever lets you do anything you want;
- When you do get to do something you want, it never lasts long enough;
- Everyone in your family is suddenly just so annoying all the time;
- Conveying your annoyance through sulking and pouting does not seem to work, for no explainable reason;
- Your friends are never home when you call them, and when they are, you aren’t allowed to have them over for long enough, and when it’s time for them to go home and you throw a fit, you get in trouble, which is annoying and wrong;
- Everyone else gets stuff all the time, and you are getting nothing;
- There is some mysterious limit on both screen time and the eating of treats that should be a LOT higher, and then when you fronce off to your room and slam the door in a perfectly reasonable expression of how political change is required in this household, you get a “talking to,” which is stupid and boring;
- Come to think of it, everything is stupid and boring.
We lived through 11 last year with the Captain. At the time we wondered what had come over him, and if this was his personality from now on. Then he turned 12 and was magically restored to a considerate, friendly boy who wanted to do family stuff with us again. So there is hope, but it certainly is going to be a long year.
REALLY looking forward to 16, I’m sure.